It's a marathon, not a sprint
by IShipIt32
Summary: Sandor knew that if the gods were real, there would be a special kind of hell waiting for him. What he didn't know was that a pretty thing like Sansa Stark could bring the worst of hells to earth with the smallest of gestures. When he agreed to train with Sansa he didn't really know what kind of hell he was signing up for.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** As usual, I don't own a single thing. This fic was originally posted on AO3 under the same user name. I figured I'd post it here as well because I love both platforms and was my first love.

Hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think.

* * *

He always knew that if the gods were real, he'd go to some kind of hell for the things he had done. Sandor Clegane had not been a good man when he was younger, everything that every sacred book said not to do, he had done, well maybe not every single one. But he had killed, he had cursed every god old and new, had a dirty mind and even a dirtier mouth, had stolen, had deceived, intimidated the innocent to his own benefit, he had cheated people and maybe even death. He was a veteran, he had traveled the world and seen its misery, he had also seen its wonders, but nothing would ever compare to the agony and delight that would be waiting for him back home.

There was a fraction of a second between the moment a grenade was pulled, and it went off in which, according to the military, it was in that portion of time when heroes were made. To Sandor, that split of a second was no place for heroes; it was the moment in which a man's true colors showed. It didn't matter how many times you rehearsed, or how many times you told yourself over and over that you'd lay your life for your brothers. It was at that moment in which you went back to instincts, in which a man ran and took cover or launched and tried to save lives. He had been doing rounds, clearing a perimeter during one of his deployments when he heard it, the slight almost indistinguishable click of a grenade, he had turned just in time to see the shiny metal before it was thrown directly at his men from a window. He had shouted and flung himself to get Giantsbane out of the way; the thing exploded a second later, the expansive wave throwing them further away from the building. He didn't know if he was knocked out for a second or a minute, but he opened his eyes to his ears were ringing and excruciating pain on the left side of his head. The first thing he did was take out his gun and fire in the direction from when the fucking grenade had been thrown. Bullets came and go, the smell of gunshot powder and iron filled his senses, his vision blurred and the drowned sounds of screaming, cursing and dying filled his ears. At that moment he knew that when he died, that was exactly what hell would be like, everything went dark after that.

The first time he opened his eyes he was on a stretcher in the back of a vehicle, he couldn't open one of his eyes but there was a big blotch of red hair that might have been talking to him or maybe at him. The second time he woke up it was to the smell of bleach and disinfectant, a hospital for sure, silence surrounded him but he didn't know if it was because he was deaf or because he was alone, so he went back to sleep. Hours, maybe days later, he woke up again; things got back into focus, sounds were distinguishable again, and he was so hungry he could eat a cow. His first visit was Giantsbane, the ginger thanked him for saving his life, told him they were practically roommates as he had needed surgery to remove some of the shrapnel too. His second visit was Snow, he brought a few things with him, his thanks for saving most of the platoon, Sandor's personal belongings from camp, the confirmation of an honorable discharge and finally, the invitation to a ceremony in which he'd be receiving a medal for his courage.

"Can we expect you there, Clegane?" - Jon had asked as he cut his visit short.

"Fuck the medal, fuck this war."

Later he learned that the explosion had thrown shrapnel to most of his upper left side, he had surgery after surgery to make sure that all the metal was out and then another one to reconstruct the damage on his face. He had never been a handsome man yet despite the doctor's excellent work; there were still scars that would always remind him of that day in hell. On top of the recovery from multiple surgeries, there was the need to readjust to the civilian life, which had proven harder than he thought. Being in the military, every single one of his actions had a purpose, he wasn't the most friendly guy but he was respected by his peers and his subordinates, either for his rank or his fame but no one would have dared to stop and stare at his face as civilians did when he tried to do the simplest tasks.

Eventually, things got better. He moved out of the capital, a place too noisy and smelly for his recovery. He found a quiet apartment in a near small city, a new therapist and started sleeping better; he even enrolled in some classes a the community college. It was on pure chance that he ran into Tormund on a Wednesday night as he nursed a drink, they hugged in the way only men who have faced death together could, sat down and talked for hours. It might have been the alcohol, or maybe it was the sense of belonging and order that Tormund reminded him of, but Sandor ended up offering his couch to the ginger giant who was apparently just visiting before deciding if he was staying or not.

That had been three years ago, which meant that he had known Sansa Star for two years and nine months, not that he was counting. It wasn't as if he could remember the exact date in which he met her, December 7t, Tormund's birthday. Or that he often thought of how easy it had been to have a conversation with her after she had found him hiding by the end of the bar playing darts. Or the way in which she had smiled at him so prettily and lightly touched his arm before saying it was a pleasure to meet him and bidding him goodnight like a polite little lady before leaving the bar with Jon Snow, who turned out to be her half-brother. No, Sandor didn't think about that often, he didn't think about her either, and he definitely did not question how the hell had they ended up being friends.

After Tormund's birthday party he had thought of Sansa as Jon's pretty sister, they had talked and laughed, but he hadn't asked for her number, and she hadn't offered. For two months he had cursed himself for being such a coward, but a part of him already knew how things would turn out: she'd give him her number, he wouldn't know what to say. After a while he might call her, she wouldn't remember who he was and he'd have to remind her, they would maybe meet for coffee, without the alcohol, she would get bored, she would make polite conversation and then tell him goodbye forever. Girls like Sansa Stark, pretty girls with trust funds and kind hearts, did not befriend former murderers who used to have bounties on their heads in countries they probably didn't even know existed. That was why two months later when a voice called out his name in the middle of a hospital waiting room, he was surprised to see it was her. She told him that she was picking up some results from a routine check up and asked if he was free to grab some coffee, still a little stunned that she wanted to hang out with him, Sandor had agreed and followed her to the cafeteria.

Once they had their coffees, Sansa smiled and asked him what he was doing in the hospital, as if it was the most common of places to run into someone, she must have seen the discomfort in his face because she added that he didn't have to answer as almost an afterthought. He remained quiet for a minute measuring out his options, he could lie to her, tell her he was donating blood or something but he hated liars, and his doctor had once and again told him that there was no shame in receiving treatment. So he told her the truth, that he was there for an appointment with Dr. Aemon, who was helping him with his PSTD. She didn't say a thing. Instead, she smiled warmly and drifted the conversation in her way, sharing how the firm where she worked had just opened an office in town and she was excited to be moving to a smaller city. She talked about the little apartment she had found downtown and how it had an extra bedroom for when Jon finished his deployment. They couldn't have talked for longer than thirty minutes but before she got up to leave Sandor had offered to help her moving in, saying Tormund alone wouldn't be enough to move heavy stuff and then she had ripped a piece of paper from her planner and written her number in girly handwriting telling him to text her so she could send over her address.

Tormund had given him hell the entire moving day. He mentioned how he had never volunteered to help him move, making loud comments of how the fearsome Hound: the man who has feared in every city across the Narrow Sea, the man who had killed a Dothraki screamer, an Unsullied soldier and a Dornish sand snake all in the same week had been disarmed by a pretty lass and was now using his deadly abilities to assemble a bed that he wouldn't even be enjoying. Lucky for Tormund, Sansa had not been in the room when that comment was made, or he would have had the need to use his skills on removing blood from surfaces after he killed the man.

After that day something resembling a friendship had been formed. They would hang out when Jon was in town, or Tormund would invite Sansa to join them for a beer after work on Fridays. Sometimes they would have coffee on Sunday mornings if Sansa needed help with some computer stuff or Sandor needed help with some contract they would have lunch during the week, they never had alcohol when alone, not that Sansa hadn't proposed meeting in a bar or having a beer with lunch. No, Sandor didn't entirely trust himself with her in an intoxicated state and being near Sansa in itself was almost like being drunk or high or drunk and high. When he first met her he had found her pretty: long legs and slender features; when they had terrible hospital coffee he discovered that she wasn't just pretty, she was beautiful, any girl who could manage to look good under the damn fluorescent lights of a hospital was sure to be something else. And as they started meeting more, in different places and environments, he discovered that while he had been drawn to her body, it had been her gentle eyes and kind heart that had sealed his feelings for her. He tried to not fall for her, he really did, he used his fame for being a loner as a shield and pretty much avoided her for a month, turning down every invitation which could even risk the possibility of bumping into her, if he didn't see her, he would eventually just forget her, right? Forget the little things he liked about her… he had never been a romantic man, but he had always been a mindful one, in his job you had to have an eye for details, and that very same skill that had kept him alive for so long seemed to become what would be the death of him.

It was trying to forget her that Sandor met Daisy. She worked a job as dull as she was, something in the lines of assistant to the junior accounting assistant of some small magazine thing. They met at his least favorite bar in the city, after a particularly crappy day, he had sensed her staring at him, women used to stare at him fairly often because of his build, but once they got a closer look at his face, at his scars, they tended to scatter. She hadn't though, she had walked up to him, already a little tipsy, and boldly asked him to buy her another drink. One drink turned into two drinks and then into three, and before he cared to figure out what happened, he was pressed against the wall of a dark corridor with a girl all over him. They had made out, viciously, his hands roaming through hair that wasn't copper coloured, that looked softer than it actually was, his lips rough against chapped ones that belonged to a mouth that was saying empty words; the girl was clearly drunk when she suggested taking the party over to her place but he agreed to take her there. She was all over him the second they got in his truck, she fished for his phone in his pocket, making him jump when her fingers brushed against something that was not his phone and then she busied herself with pressing buttons and whatever.

He had never intended to take advantage of her, he wasn't that kind of man, but he did agree to a little more kissing, stealing a few more bases, before finally pushing her in the bed, pretending to go to the bathroom and giving her enough time to pass out. Two days later his phone rang just as he finished his workout, he didn't recognize the name that popped on his screen, but curiosity got the best of him, and he picked up. It was Daisy, from the bar she had said, she wanted to buy him coffee or a sandwich or something as a thank you for… well, for whatever that night had been and he agreed. It lasted two months before he got tired of her; she asked too many questions, and never the right ones, she talked too much but instead of chirping courtesies she whined, her laugh didn't seem genuine, her eyes weren't warm… the sex was okay, the kisses not half bad, but it wasn't what he wanted, she wasn't who he wanted, and once the novelty wore off and his body got its share of action, far from turning his mind away from Sansa, it merely made him think of her even more.

Sansa Stark had been a mystery to him, a puzzle he could not put together, a bomb he could not put apart. He had been called the Hound in the army because he could smell a bomb from one hundred feet away; because he seemed to stretch that fraction of a second between a trigger and an explosion and yet he had failed to notice the depth of the impact this girl would have on him.

Little by little he got to know her better, to see past the facade of a pretty young girl born into money with the perfect courtesies, solid GPA and a job waiting for her. He learned about her family and the hardships she had faced at such a young age. He learned of the horrible relationships she has entered or been pushed into in the past. He learned her favorite dessert, how she liked her coffee, her inability to change a tire or take her car to the mechanic. He learned how Jon had taken care of her and that now she took care of him. For the first time in his life, he was jealous of the pretty boy; he wanted to be the one who took care of Sansa and maybe if he could have one good thing in his life, learn what it would feel for her to take care of him.

It had been in that longing to care for her, in his own way of trying to make her happy, that he had agreed to what he now considered the closest notion of hell on earth. Closer even than that day under the burning sun of a forsaken town in the Free Cities in which he had almost died for probably the hundredth time.

Sansa worked for an NPO that provided funds for women who had suffered domestic abuse and girls who could not afford their education. She was a lawyer and a damn good one at it, and she had the biggest bleeding heart that Sandor has ever met. He could still remember the big smile on her face as she told him how some corporate office had agreed to donate money for every person her NPO managed to sign up for a marathon they would be hosting in a few months. She had registered on impulse, being one to lead by her example and then encouraging her peers to join her and tell their friends to support them too. Sandor couldn't help but smile at the ridiculousness of it all, it wasn't that he didn't support her work, he did, but Sansa Stark was no sportswoman, she had confessed to him that she was blessed with great genetics and a superior metabolism.

"Let me get this right, you impulsively signed up for a marathon... you... Sansa, when was the last time you actually exercised?"

"I went to a free yoga class last month! And I do that eight minutes ab workout almost every day... so, yesterday?"

He couldn't help but laugh, a part of him was ready to receive her scolding but he also knew that she wouldn't call him off, she didn't really have the right to do so and she knew it. So instead she waited for him to finish laughing and then looked at him with her big blue eyes and he knew he was fucked because she only looked at him like that when she wanted to ask something, and he had yet to master the art of denying her.

"Okay, okay, I know. But Sandor, that's where you come in. I need you, Sandor, these girls, these women need you."

Alarms started going off in his head, he knew where she was getting at, and he didn't want her to go there. She was deliberately choosing her words, picking the ones that would have the most impact on him, *I need you Sandor*, if only that were true, he thought. Encouraged by the sudden silence, Sansa had gone on.

"You're an active man; you're probably the fittest man I know... definitely one of the most disciplined too. I need your help; I need your guidance, I need to be held accountable. You could help me train! I'd be your padawan!"

"Who would have thought that a pretty little bird like you would be such a nerd" - he had mumbled under his breath before sighing - "Running a marathon requires commitment, girl, and if I did agree to help you, which I'm not agreeing to, you'd have to mold your schedule to mine, I really don't have any spare time for you to take at your convenience."

Her eyes lit up a little at his words, at the sole idea that he wasn't plain out rejecting her. She told him how she would commit to it, how she would show up at five in the morning if need be, how she would schedule every single one of their sessions in her agenda and stick to it through thick and thin. And then she smiled at him, bright and true. She smiled the smile she reserved for when Jon went back home after deployment, for her when her rowdy sister shared her life stories with her; she smiled that smile that he had seldom received, but that made it seem as if life wasn't so bad and he agreed.

He found an 18-week plan that seemed doable and emailed it to her that same afternoon, he agreed to run with her thrice a week to keep her accountable, but the training plan also demanded her to do some cross training during the week and was accompanied by some suggestions on her diet. He told her it would be entirely up to her to get ready for the marathon; he was only her running partner, not her fucking personal trainer. Finding for a way out of it, Sandor scheduled their first run for Monday at six in the morning, knowing that Sansa was not a morning person at all, he figured that she would show up late and he'd be able to count her first strike. He was wrong. On Monday morning, a soft knock on the door caught his attention just as he finished stretching a little; he opened the door to a very sleepy Sansa who was all but leaning against the frame in an attempt to not fall back asleep. Taking her lack of attention to his advantage, he took her in: hair perfectly pulled into a high ponytail, one of those fancy running t-shirts and shorts… shorts that showed off her incredibly long legs, legs that had some freckles on them; freckles that he had never seen before and he should have never seen in the first place because he was sure that he'd be thinking about them for the rest of the day.

"Morning" - she said softly, breaking his trance, her eyes looked a bit more awake, a smile forming on her make-up free face - "Ready to do this?"

He wanted to say no, he wanted to tell her this had been a mistake, that he could send her text messages asking if she had worked out and that she did not need him as a running buddy. He wanted to go back inside and close the door, forget he ever saw her looking so good at six in the morning, wondering how it was possible for someone, anyone, to look that good so early. But he didn't, he just nodded, stepped outside and went over some basic stretching before telling her they'd be running three miles and to try to keep up.

"They say it takes thirty days to develop a new habit" - Sandor had said after they finished their first run, as he tried and failed to not look at Sansa while she stretched up - "If you stick to your training and not miss any days for a month, I might consider running that marathon with you."

Thirty days went by in a blur. Thirty days of scheduled runs and some unscheduled workouts threw in a spur of the moment kind of thing. Twelve out of those thirty days she had been the first person he saw in the morning, sixteen out of those thirty days he had met her for either runs or coffee, twenty out of those thirty days she had sent him some kind of text message and thirty out of those thirty days he had thought of her more than he could care to admit.

Before agreeing to train with Sansa Stark, Sandor's days were pretty much all the same. He had a routine, he had a schedule and loved it; he loved the predictability of his days, the monotony of everything, the fact that no one was likely to jump out of a corner and try to kill or blow him up. Every day he would wake up at 5:30am and work out, there was an iron gym not too far from his place and so he would jog there, lift weights for about two hours and then go back home. He'd have a cold shower, years in the military and his unpleasant relationship with fire preventing him from really enjoying a hot one, he'd have a protein packed breakfast, a strong cup of black coffee and then he'd be out the door; and to the office.

After years of taking classes at the community college, he had learned enough about programming and software to venture to start some kind of small business, in truth, it was only him doing freelance jobs at the same room as Tormund worked on whichever project had captured his attention for the time being. He'd have lunch at 1 pm and go back to work until five or six, depending on how his work was flowing. Then he'd go back home, make himself some dinner, read a book or watch a movie, do some core exercises and shower again before bed. Every day was the same with the exceptions of weekends and holidays; those were the days in which he was lazy or scheduled his doctor appointments, those were the days in which he got completely wasted with his military buddies if they were in town or worked on whatever had broken down at home. Those were the days in which for a brief period of time he had driven to the city and had a cheap date with some girl before having bad sex. Very occasionally on Friday nights or during the weekend he would meet Sansa for coffee or maybe even a bite to eat but those were rare occasions. He didn't know how the girl ended up considering him a friend, though helping her move and fixing whatever broke down in her apartment or keeping away a few nasty guys at bars sure hadn't hurt either. But those days were gone, days in which his phone never really rang if it wasn't for work reasons, days in which the only messages he got were from old veterans like himself or a damn telemarketer trying to sell him something, that all changed the day he agreed to help Sansa.

His routine changed after getting roped in to train with Sansa, there was now an unpredictability to his days, the monotony had been slightly broken and every day would bring small surprises along the way. He still woke up at 5:30 am every day, but Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he would meet Sansa in the park, they would stretch, warm up, run and then cool down. When their runs were short, they'd clean up a little and then have breakfast at either her place or a tiny café that Sansa particularly liked, after coffee, they would go their separate ways. Those days they run together, he'd go on with his day and hit the gym around 9 pm, when the place was empty again. Every day after his morning work out, Sandor would get home and take a cold shower, trying to get his mind off the image of Sansa's long legs as she stretched or how he had discovered that her chest also had freckles. He would go to work and meet Tormund, who would always make some joke about how Sandor seemed happier on days he ran. Around lunchtime he would get a text from Sansa, he tried to play it cool, but whenever his phone rang during lunch, his heart skipped a beat in anticipation. It had started off fairly boring, a text telling him what she was having for lunch, her way of proving that she was serious about her training and that she had committed to improving her eating habits. After the first week she stopped sending texts and started with pictures of her food, sometimes he sent one back, some others he completely ignored her, but then as they entered week three, Sansa began to send pictures of her and her food. Those were the ones that made Sandor's heart skip a beat, the sight of her in her professional attires making faces at her salad or pouting when one of her co-workers was having a cheeseburger for lunch. Once or twice Tormund had caught him chuckling at her pictures and asked what was that about, both times he had sent the ginger straight to hell. Some afternoons she'd text him telling her that she had done a yoga class, something that Sandor did not need to know as it evoked rather interesting pictures of her and rose questions on her flexibility, some other times she'd just text him asking how he was doing, those where the texts that confused him the most.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jon first enlisted she had felt brokenhearted, their family had suffered enough losses as to have him voluntarily running head first into danger but he had promised that he would be safe and that he would return and Jon had never broken his promises. The first time he left it was only for training, so she didn't have much to worry about, plus she had school and her younger siblings to keep her busy. The second time he left she was a mess, even Arya who could have the emotional rage of a spoon was a mess. Eight months later he had come back, just as he had promised, with a tired look on his face, sunburnt and with amazing stories that he censored for the sake of his siblings.

She first heard of the Hound nine years ago when Jon shared some story about a man able to sniff bombs and dismantle them faster than any other man in his unit. She had been cooking dinner, half listening to him and half paying attention to her actions. The way in which Jon described the man made her curious, he didn't use the friendly tone with which he usually talked about his mates or the respectful tone he used for his superiors, there was something like admiration in his voice, and maybe a little bit of fear.

Through the years she would hear more about the Hound. She would come to learn that he was vicious in the battlefield, a killing machine of sorts, that he was strict and followed orders without question, that he didn't allow his men to be weak. She learned he pushed his men more than any other man in his position did, she agreed with that, though she knew that if she were in the receiving end of the discipline, she would think otherwise. But that was precisely why despite being sent to some of the most dangerous missions, his men almost always returned home, except for the one time in which Sandor Clegane had somehow almost gotten them all killed. However, despite that one mistake or the fact that he was a higher rank that Jon or even Tormund, Sandor Clegane was the most loyal man you could find, at least according to Jon, she heard of acts of bravery that she thought only happened in movies. And then she met him, almost three years ago in a dim lit bar on the very same day that she was introduced to Tormund Giantsbane and Brienne Tarth and the enigma that was Sandor Clegane intensified.

Jon had convinced her to be the designated driver under the promise of going to brunch on Sunday, his treat and bottomless mimosas; she had quickly agreed and then regretted it. She had thought they would be going to some nice bar downtown, that she might put on some makeup, maybe a nice little dress and meet some nice guys who handled paperwork in this part of the world. So when she asked Jon what he was wearing and he told him that exactly what he had on, her dreams began to shatter.

"Oh, did I mention this bar is located in Aegon?" - Jon had asked with a bright smile on his face

"Aegon?! Aegon as in that town two hours away from the city, Ageon?!"

"That same one! So no need to wear something fancy, we're meeting up at 8, plan accordingly." - he had said and winked at her, the idiot.

She had cursed him for the entire two-hour drive, told him that he didn't only owe her brunch but also pizza and margaritas. Jon had smiled at her and agreed to everything she asked for, he was in a good mood, and so she decided to stop being a brat and let her brother enjoy himself, it wasn't very often that Jon smiled anymore. She figured out who they were meeting the second they entered the bar, a group of lean men was gathered around the bar, short hair, broad shoulders, manly laughter and a cloud of testosterone were not hard to miss. Jon had led the way, introducing some of the men and the one woman whom she had mistaken for another guy. She recognized some of their names; some faces even looked familiar from pictures Jon had sent and despite their gruff appearances or the fact that any of them could kill her with a plastic spoon. They all turned out to be nice people but none of them was the Hound, she didn't want to ask after him, that would raise questions, and she didn't know why she wanted to meet this man so badly. Instead, she made sure to drink her soda and talk to Brienne, who was apparently very glad to have a female companion for the evening.

"Look who decided to show up!" - Tormund shouted happily from the head of their pushed tables; every single head turned to see the man whose presence had taken over the room - "The fucking Hound!"

"And to think there was a time when I was Major Clegane to you sorry lot" - the Hound replied as he got closer to the table, his voice rough and low just like she had imagined - "Only a cunt throws himself a lame birthday party."

"Hey, watch your language!" - Grenn, one of the guys closest to Jon's age intervened, throwing a wink her way and making her blush.

They made eye contact for a second before the gruff man mumbled something and went straight to the bar, she thought that the environment would change, that she had ruined the celebration but instead, Clegane went back to the table with four pitchers of beers, call Grenn a cunt and everything went back to laughter. She had sought him afterward, drawn to him by the mysterious aura that surrounded him and the stories she had heard. The Hound turned out to be a quiet guy, a little unnerving at first but not unpleasant, he had a dry sense of humor, and his voice sounded like gravel, and she liked it. By the time the bartender announced the last call, the group was getting ready to go home, she asked if anyone needed a ride and smiled at Grenn and Tormund as they asked if she could drop them off, she was about to leave when she realized she hadn't said goodbye to Sandor.

"Hey, we're leaving, it was nice meeting you" - she said softly as she lightly placed a hand on his forearm to catch his attention - "Do you need a ride? We have room for one more."

"I'm good, thanks" - he had replied mostly uninterested.

"Okay then, I should go before my drunk brother does something stupid. Bye then!"

The following day Jon kept his promise and took her out for brunch and later in the afternoon for pizzas and margaritas. They had laughed and joked, and he had thanked her not only for driving him and being so cool with his friends. He told her how his friends had sent him text messages saying how good it had been to meet her and that they hoped he'd bring her along for more gatherings. Sansa just smiled at her brother, told him that she genuinely had a good time and that she even exchanged phone numbers with Tormund and Brienne, who she had liked the most.

Three weeks later her boss called her in for a meeting and offered her a promotion; the only minor detail was that it would require relocating… to Aegon of all places. Jon had just left back on an assignment so they set up a video call and she presented her situation to her siblings, after the initial shock, they all seemed to agree that if what her boss was offering would make Sansa happy then she should take it. Arya and Bran would still live in their family apartment in the city, and she would rent a place with an extra bedroom for when either of them visited. Immediately after finishing the call, Jon sent her a text suggesting that she called Brienne, apparently, she was friends with someone who worked in real estate and might be able to help her. Sansa thanked him for the tip and just before she fell asleep her phone beeped with another message, it made her smile, it was just Jon saying that he was glad at least his friends would be there for her and he urged her to take advantage of it.

And now there they were, years down the line on a weekend Jon was spending with her between assignments. He knew that she had asked Sandor to run with her in preparation for the upcoming marathon and had even volunteered to go with them on their scheduled 12 miles run. Everything had gone fine, or so she thought, at least nothing had been unusual only that Jon was looking at her funny.

"I don't think I like the way the Hound looks at you" - Jon said over a cup of coffee as they waited for their breakfast.

"You don't like the way any man looks at me" - she replied, a smug smile on her face that she tried to pass off as impatience but they both knew that she loved him for it, for being more than a half-brother.

"I've known the man for ten years, San, and I've never seen him look at anyone or anything the way he looks at you."

"Sandor Clegane is not interested in me, Jon" - Sansa said trying to sound casual, she took a sip of her coffee and looked at Jon who was still staring at her - "What?"

"Nothing, I guess… I could swear you sound a little disappointed" - he shrugged.

The entire weekend Sansa tried to get Jon's words out of her head, she wasn't disappointed, why would she be disappointed, plus, she didn't even know what kind of look Jon thought he had seen in Sandor, the Hound, as he still referred to the man. It didn't make sense; if he wanted to worry about the way any of his friends looked at her then he might as well worry about Tormund! More than once he had called her beautiful, said that whoever managed to get her own on a date would be a lucky guy. But then again Tormund had always said those words in a kind voice, and he was utterly fascinated by Brienne and, well, Sansa knew Tormund was quite a flirt so it didn't count. But Sandor Clegane was the entire opposite of Tormund. He didn't look at her twice when they met, he never complimented her outfits or noticed if she had done something to her hair, she had never once caught him staring or checking her out no matter what she wore. So no, she didn't know what look Jon was talking about, and she was not disappointed by that.

Anyway, contrary to popular believe, Sansa did know precisely what she was signing up for when agreeing to run a marathon. This would, in fact, be her third event, but she hadn't run in years, not since she was fresh out of college and she knew that she'd need someone to keep her accountable for her training, which was how she ended up asking Sandor for help. He had looked so uncomfortable when she tossed the idea as if spending extra time with her would be torture. She had thought of asking Brienne too but that woman was too nice for her own good Sansa she needed someone who would not buy her bullshit excuses when she didn't want to run. So when the Hound agreed to run with her, the smile that formed on her face had been a genuine one.

Only once had Sansa caught the Hound doing something that if stretched might resemble staring at her. The very first day they agreed to run together, that damned Monday morning in which she had had to set three different alarms to make sure she wouldn't sleep right through them and give Sandor an excuse to cancel their agreement. She knew that was exactly what he wanted: a way out, there was no other reason why he would put her through the torture of waking up so early in the morning. When her first alarm went off, Sansa had fought the urge to hit snooze but lost the battle and fell back asleep, when her second alarm went off she went as far as hitting snooze and staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering why on earth had she agreed to run a marathon but by the time her third alarm went off she was already dressed and heading out the door. All her adrenaline soon washed off as the sun started breaking through the morning and the nice warmth of sunshine warmed her up as she waited for Sandor to open the door. Her eyes felt droopy and the smell of coffee coming out from his house made her long for her bed, she might have closed her eyes for a second or two but when she opened them and saw Sandor's eyes linger a little on her. She woke right up, a smile on her face and a brand new adrenaline rush coursing through her body. He had never again given her a second glance, not that she wanted him looking anyway.

Her phone buzzed and broke her out of her trance, a new email, Sandor's name on the sender's box. Anxiously she reached for it, Sandor Clegane never sent her emails, he hardly ever texted her on his own accord. When he needed legal advice, he sent her a short message and asked her to meet. When she sent him a text, he usually either took a long time to reply or didn't reply at all. Sansa opened the email and smiled, Sandor had registered for the race but forgotten to forward the information. She looked at the attached form; her smile grew when she saw the registration date, it had been exactly 30 days after they begun their training. She quickly replied to his message and then let a breath out, having to contact anyone who worked with Petyr Baelish was one of the things that she disliked the most about her job.

For years she had known Petyr Baelish, one of her mother's childhood friends who had somehow clawed his way in the world and was now the owner of Hummingbird Inc, the most important public relations company in King's Landing. He was the man to go when you wanted something swept under the rug; he was the guy to go if you wanted to be someone and had enough money to pay the price. Along with his PR company, he also had a side gig organizing exclusive events… events that could cater to any of the customer's heart desired, events that would be private and secret and if they weren't then he'd make sure to keep everything in the shadows. Petyr Baelish had been a comforting presence what seemed like a million years ago; he had helped get back on her feet after her parents and Robb passed away, he had been there for her, taken care of all the legal stuff and even encouraged her to dream of going to college. Things changed when she turned the day after she turned 18, he had changed. He allowed himself to be caught looking at her, there were lingering touches and uncomfortably long embraces. She knew it wasn't right, but Jon had just enlisted, and she was alone and scared with two younger siblings to look after, and so she had tried to brush it off.

She finally managed to avoid him by going to college, then one time Jon had come back home she had seen her brother almost choking the older man against a wall and after that Petyr backed off. She had only found him again less than a year ago and ever since he had found ways to be in touch with her. That afternoon she had sent a polite and professional email with Sandor's information to his secretary, but it had been him who replied, saying that he looked forward to seeing her in her running gear at the start line. The flashbacks were immediate, the ways he would look at her anytime he could, a shiver had run down her spine, and her mood had changed drastically.

That was how she ended up feeling depressed and nursing a glass of chilled golden arbor wine as she stared out the window, the weather had started to change, the temperatures had started to drop, and if you looked closely, you could tell that the leaves would soon start changing color. Absently, her hands went to the top drawer of her desk and took out a bunch of papers. She had kept all the letters Jon had sent her; there was something special about receiving mail from abroad, something heartwarming about finding an envelope that didn't contain bills or a pamphlet that swore she would burn in hell if she didn't worship the red god. Some letters were worn from all the times she had read them, some pieces of paper had brought sand or little drops that she didn't know if they were rain or tears, some had smudges where the ink ran, a few of them she could swear had a bit of blood on them.

She went through the envelopes and settled on the ones that carried pictures, when had she last gone through her old letters? Years ago, before moving to Aegon, before befriending Brienne, Tormund, and Sandor. Unconsciously she started searching for them in the pictures; she found one of a much younger Brienne, her face always stern but her blue eyes shone brightly. There was one of Jon and Tormund on top a tank, their uniforms dirty and their beards long and unkempt, she smiled at it, thinking how her brother did belong in the army. As she was about to put everything away she found a picture of the entire group she had met on Tormund's birthday: Jon, Tormund, Brienne, Edd, Grenn, Sandor, for some reason Sam Tarley was also in the picture. The group was on top of the Wall, behind them an abysm was clear, there was a small smile on the men's lips, even Sandor's, and for the first time, she saw what the man used to look without the scars.

She smiled at the picture, her heart felt lighter, Sandor Clegane wasn't a particularly handsome man, he didn't have the angular features of Jon and had never had luscious wavy hair like Robb once had, he was almost too tall, his face carried a hard expression and his lips looked thin and chapped. She tried to compare the man in the picture to the man who ran with her at ungodly hours of the morning. The man in the picture did not look like the kind of man who would donate money to the local animal shelter. He didn't look like the man who had all but dropped everything when she called because her car had broken down in the middle of the highway and she had panicked. But the Sandor of the picture was the Sandor she knew, only with longer hair and new scars. The man in the picture had a sturdy build; his sole presence demanded respect or fear.

She was about to pour herself a third glass of wine when her phone buzzed; it was Sandor, his message made her groan: "14mi, 5:30 am".


	3. Chapter 3

There could only be one possible explanation for his current misery: the gods hated him. As simple as that, the gods hated him and had decided to make him pay for all his sins while still on earth.

For fifteen weeks he had been training with Sansa. For fifteen weeks he had been subject to torture that was worse than his time captured by rebels in Qohor. Fuck, he would gladly go back if it only meant not having to awkwardly try not to notice Sansa's long legs in those stupid shorts she wore. Not having to avert his eyes from her chest when she breathed in heavily after finishing a sprint. If he never again had to listen to her little moans of pleasure as she stretched her tired muscles after a long run.

The first time she showed up at his doorstep in her workout outfit he had almost closed the door on her. He was lucky that she had opted for regular loose running shorts, something a bit more conservative than what some girls wore to the gym. Not the one he went to but the ones he had found in the city when he traveled, only once he had made the mistake of looking at her, really look at her, but it had been all that he needed to be completely fucked.

With the weather getting colder, Sandor thought that he would finally get a break. Surely, Sansa would start getting cold, stop wearing those fancy sleeveless shirts that she had started to wear. There was one she must particularly like, one he particularly hated. It had a mesh stripe on the back that made it absolutely impossible to not notice her sports bra, and once you started thinking about the sports bra there really was no way not to think about her chest and that was just hell for him. She hadn't worn that thing in weeks, meaning that Sandor could breathe again. For their last training she had even worn a long sleeve shirt, and thought the fabric hugged her body in all the right places, he found it less distracting than the sight of her skin.

When he woke up on Saturday morning, there was a thin layer of fog outside his window, stepping on the front porch he even laughed as he shivered slightly from the cold air. He was feeling great when he got out his truck and parked near the trail, he was awake and full of energy. He even smiled a little when Sansa's car pulled up next to him, and he saw her wearing a regular, loose fitting t-shirt. His happiness though didn't last long as she stepped out of her car and he noticed that instead of her usual shorts, she was wearing skin-tight leggings that made her impossibly long legs look even longer.

"Damn it, girl" – he mumbled under his breath and cursed himself as he noticed that he had said it loud enough for her to hear.

"Can it, Hound, I'm pumped! Let's go!" – she chirped with a big smile on her face.

Sandor was sure that if he looked up the definition of 'distraction,' there would be a picture of Sansa Stark next to it. He had spent the majority of the run focused on his music, breathing, and pace. Usually running with Sansa was easy, she went at a slower pace and she hadn't been that out of shape, but then there was a part of the trail that wasn't broad enough for the two of them so he signaled her to go first, big mistake.

Before, he had been able to look ahead at the trees and focus on the scenery it really was a beautiful sight, but once he got behind Sansa he forgot about the forests and the lakes and even his own breathing and pace. If he looked ahead, all he saw was red hair. Red hair and long legs, slim cream colored arms that had gained a little more muscle from whatever training she was doing on the side. He saw long legs hugged by thin black fabric, the curve of her ass and a narrow waist disappearing under her shirt.

Sandor tried to get his eyes to go up, focus on something innocent like her neck, but her long neck was just begging to be kissed. He wondered if she smelled like lavender and lemons early in the morning as she stepped out of bed or if maybe it was the scent of her soap or shampoo. For three miles he tortured himself and just as he was starting to relax, as he was beginning to enjoy the view, the path cleared and there was enough room for them to run side by side again for the remaining two miles.

"Hey!" – Sansa called a little out of breath as he reappeared by her side – "Ready to sprint?"

She didn't have to say it twice, the second they hit their marker Sandor was off like lightning, leaving her behind in a matter of seconds.

"Wow, you really couldn't wait to get away from me, huh?" – Sansa asked him a few minutes later as she made it back but instead of engaging in her usual conversation she went on to stretch silently.

She was looking a little hurt as they walked back to the parking area and Sandor felt guilty. Sansa Stark was probably the only woman who had shown him kindness and asked nothing in return and yet for the past few months he had been a jerk to her every time they worked out together. On the few occasions they had coffee or lunch together, he had been his usual almost pleasant self, but every time they worked out he was back to being a jerk. All because he couldn't handle the fact that her clothes were a bit more revealing and his brain had nothing to occupy itself for the many miles they spent together but to imagine doing unchivalrous things to her.

"Sansa…" – he mumbled as they reached their cars and she went straight to her door instead of lingering around his truck.

"Don't worry, I know you hate this" – she said motioning towards the two of them – "I'm sorry… look you don't have to do this anymore, the race is in three weeks and you sure as hell don't need any training. You don't even have to run the dumb thing if you don't want to. I… I guess I didn't figure this was such a dread to you. Again, I'm sorry, I won't bother you anymore."

The contrast between the girl before him getting in her tiny car and the one who had come out of it with a big smile on her face broke his heart. Had he hurt her that much by merely running alone for the last mile? No, she wasn't sad because of that. She had just had enough of his asshole attitude towards the entire thing. Sandor was ashamed, he was a better person than that, he was trained to be focused and not let his emotions get in the way, but when things came down to her, he was as skillful as a green summer boy trying to talk to his first girl.

"Sansa, wait" – he pleaded as he took a step further. He realized then that it was the first time he had made a step towards her, he was always stepping away. She turned to look at him with her big blue eyes, and his heart broke again.

"It's okay, Sandor" – she said kindly, placing her small hand softly on his forearm as she had done all those years ago when they first met.

"No, it's not okay…" – he said, he had never been one to be good with words, but it had been his actions what had landed him in that position, so maybe he wasn't that good with actions either – "I don't hate… this… It's just that… you're just… I… I like spending time with you, I really do."

"Just not running with me?" – she asked quietly, a fake smile on her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes, the smile she gave to other men when she was politely turning them down.

"This is going to come out completely wrong, I'm warning you, but here goes nothing. You're fucking distracting, girl, and here I am, older than you and trying not to be a creep. But it's impossible not to notice your legs, especially in those damn pants, or your narrow waist or the curve of your… I mean, the scent of your hair… when the wind blows a certain way. You're a distraction, and that angers me because I've been trained not to get distracted. Where I come from, distractions get you killed and yet here I am, getting distracted by a pretty twenty-something-year-old girl like a fucking boy who has never even held a gun properly before."

He hadn't meant to get angry, and he definitely hadn't meant to show his anger, but as he finished talking and noticed that his heart rate was up and his lungs demanded oxygen, he figured that somehow he had ended up yelling at the poor thing before him. So he turned away, ready to get into his truck and not bother her again until a firm grip on his wrist made him look up.

"I'm twenty-eight" – she said, this time her smile was weak, but at least it was true – "And that must be the most awkward compliment anyone has given me." - she added - "Probably the sweetest one too."

"Oh… okay?"

"You're not a very smart man, Sandor Clegane…" – she said with a pretty smile on her lips and what Sandor could have thought was a flirty look in her eyes. He just stood there, confused and silent - "I would have told you that I don't mind being a distraction, not to you at least."

She got into her tiny car and left him standing there, glued to the spot, looking like a complete idiot, feeling like a complete idiot. He didn't know how long he stood there, long enough for her car to disappear into the distance and immediately after regaining movement in his arms and legs, he could feel at least half of the blood in his body going south.

Cursing loudly, Sandor Clegane climbed back into his truck and drove back home as fast as he could. He had faced the same situation so many times in the last few months, every time he finished a run with her and found himself alone in his room. He had faced that situation every time she got a little too tipsy when they went out for drinks with Tormund and Brienne, and he drove her home. She was a happy drunk. A happy and touchy drunk. How many times had he driven her home with her hands going up and down his arm, or worst, with her hand resting on his thigh and her head on his shoulder? Every time he had shaken his head and gone for a cold shower. Only once or twice he had taken care of himself as he thought of the little bird, feeling drunk more on her scent and touch more than the alcohol or adrenaline that ran through his veins, but he always felt ashamed afterward.

All that time he had thought that Sansa was twenty-three, at least thirteen years younger than him and that didn't feel right. That time, though, knowing that he was only eight years older and that she didn't mind being a distraction to him, whatever the fuck that meant, he was planning on taking matters into his own hands and enjoying it.

If he had known that confessing his feelings would make things so much easier, he would have done that weeks ago, who knew that all that communication shit was real. When Monday morning came around he was honestly happy to be running with Sansa; he was excited? Anxious? Fucking horny? Whatever it was, he felt some sort of good feeling that he hadn't felt in years and apparently Sansa was feeling happy too because there was a certain skip in her step and her smile reached her eyes and made her face an even lovelier sight.

"You are awfully lovely company this morning" – Sansa teased as she came in running after him, she might have had the element of surprise on their final sprint, but he was definitely in better shape.

"I can go back to my grouch self if it displeases the lady so much" – Sandor said and controlled his features to go back into his usual blank and unamused stare.

"Jerk, come on, let's wrap this up. I'll buy you a coffee."

He should have agreed to coffee and keep his damned mouth shut but no, he had to go ahead and ask her if she had time for breakfast instead and because as previously stated, the gods hated him, she had agreed.

If someone asked him how breakfast had gone, he would have said it was a disaster though he was sure that Sansa had a lovely time. That was why he was in such a foul mood that morning at the office, worst than on any given Monday morning to the point that Tormund asked him what the hell was wrong.

"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong! I just had breakfast with Sansa fucking Stark, that's what wrong!" – he had all but barked at the ginger.

'I'm not following mate; you get all googly-eyed when she's around, what's wrong with breakfast?"

"Everything was fine while we ran, actually fine and then she proposed getting coffee and because I'm an idiot I suggested breakfast instead. Naturally, I was drenched in sweat, so I walked to my truck and changed into a dry t-shirt. I thought she was eying me while I changed but brushed it off, probably my imagination, right? Then we go over to Hot Pie's, and she decides she wants to seat in the bar, the place is half empty, but she wants to seat in the damned bar. Do you know what Sansa Stark smells like after working out? Lemons and lavender. No one should smell like fucking lemons and lavender after a six-mile run! I smell like a wet dog after working out, and this pretty little bird smells like lemons and lavender. So there I am, seating awkwardly on a stool that's too low for my fucking height and she is chirping my ear off, and she's placing her hand on my forearm or shoulder and poking me in the fucking ribs! So I try to get away from her but I move and push my silverware to the ground, so I do what a regular person does and bend over to pick it up from the floor, and I swear, Tormund, I swear she was checking me out. I could feel her fucking eyes on my ass and when I got back up she simply smiled at me like nothing was wrong."

"So the pretty girl you've been mooning over for years was checking you out, what a torture mate." – Tormund said with a smug grin.

"I think this is payback, this is her way of fucking me over for telling her that she was a distraction. I don't like games, Giantsbane, I fucking hate games."


	4. Chapter 4

It had all been Jon's fault; really, if he had kept his mouth shut and not told her that he didn't like the way Sandor looked at her then she would have carried on being blissfully ignorant instead of paying close attention to any detail that might show that the Hound was interested in her.

Jon's words had sparked something in her, sure, she had been curious about Sandor Clegane in the past but, in all honesty, who wouldn't? Tall, dark man with a history of violence, a former military hero who had more medals that she knew existed but didn't give a rat's ass about them, a self-made man who was awfully bad with words but quite the math and computer wiz, of course she was curious about him. She was sure that what she felt towards Sandor Clegane was some sort of admiration, that what went on between the two of them was a regular friendship between a man and a woman and then her brother had gone and messed it all up.

The week after he made the stupid comment, Sansa realized that Sandor Clegane indeed did not look at her twice, but it was the way in which he was so obviously trying not to pay attention to her that made her curious. She was used to having men leer at her like Joffrey had done, like Petyr did, as if assessing her value merely by the way she looked, as if she were some kind of trophy they could show off to their friends. She had also been subject to the stares of men like that bastard Ramsay Bolton, who looked at her with a sick desire. Then there were the regular looks that her few male friends gave her, looks of appreciation or harmless flirting, looks that made her feel good about herself and safe because she knew that they would never do anything to her. But having a man purposely trying to ignore her, that was something new, something that made her think that said man either found her disgusting or was trying too hard not to show interest in her. Somehow she just had a feeling that the Hound did not find her disgusting.

Curiosity had led the way to analysis and if there was something that Sansa Stark was good at, other than law, was overanalyzing things. She went into full detective mode one Friday night after getting out of work early, went to the store and splurged by buying a bottle of her favorite wine, a cheese platter, pita chips, hummus, and crudities. She pulled out her phone, opened her computer and started going over every single text or email he had ever sent and every picture they had together. She came to some conclusions. First, almost 90% of their conversations were started by her. Second, the only emails he sent that weren't a reply were just plain and informative such as ways to stay safe in a tornado, what to do if a bear came up to you, how to prevent identity theft. Third, she noticed that in most of their pictures, he was as far away from her as possible, except for the few ones that she couldn't remember clearly. In those, they were either standing or sitting together, in one of then she even had her arm around his shoulders, was that maybe her subconsciously trying to get closer to him? A little defeated, she decided to call it a night and go to bed, but sleep avoided her. No matter how hard she tried, her brain kept circling back to him, and the times they had been together. It might have been the wine or the way she was secretly hoping for some sign that he was at least slightly interested in her, but then things started to make sense.

She noticed how every time they had gone out for drinks or lunch or even their morning runs he had made sure to walk her to her car to see her off. How every time he had driven her home, he had walked her all the way to her door and waited for her to lock it before leaving. She realized how he had been the first one to notice whenever a guy was bothering her and would give the man a look that would frighten any of his underlings. She thought of how he insisted on paying the bill and lied about letting her get the next one. Of how he would never complain when she asked him to fix something over at her place. How he had been the first person she had called that Thursday night when she had decided to check on her spare key and freaked out because she couldn't find it. He had shown up at her place forty minutes later with his tools and a new lock, smelling amazing, freshly shaved and slightly dressed up. Later, as they shared a pizza, he had told her that he had been on his way to pick up his date when she called.

So no, Sandor Clegane didn't look at her in any particular way but there was something in the way he acted, the little things he did for her, that spoke for themselves. Maybe, if he had been any other man she would have brushed them off, thought that they were nothing more than courtesies. But this was a man nicknamed the Hound who wasn't known for his manners, and she found something heartwarming about it all, something that made her feel good, valued, maybe even special. Yes, it might have been the wine or how wild her imagination was running, but that night, before falling asleep, Sansa decided that maybe with a little encouragement she would be able to get Sandor to ask her on a date.

So she started working on it, discreetly at first and then a little more aggressively. She started off by smiling more at him, sitting next to him whenever they went out, sending her pictures of her with her food, but he didn't seem to notice her efforts. She had the terrible idea of mentioning to one of her coworkers, Myranda, that she was having trouble getting a man's attention, and she suggested that Sansa did something a little bolder. Out of all the things she said, the only thing she was somehow comfortable with was maybe showing a bit more skin, so she bought a top that screamed to please look at her chest and thigh leggings for when the weather grew colder.

She thought everything had gone to hell the first day she wore the leggings. She was feeling happy and confident, she thought she actually looked good in those, but Sandor had been grumpier than ever, even when she mustered the nerve to tell him to shut up. Sansa was more than ready to call it quits on their training and on whatever it was they had when he called her a distraction. She should have felt uncomfortable, she should have taken offense in the way he had said things, but far from it, it made her happy, it showed her that there was indeed something between them and that she wasn't the only one who felt it. She had to admit that she didn't entirely play fair when they had breakfast the following week, but he had brought it upon him when he took off his soaked shirt out in front of her in broad daylight like it was nothing. She had always assumed that he had a great body. Whenever she had touched his arm or side, she met a wall of muscle, a clear result of all the working out and eating the right things. But to see his ripped body, his hard abs, he peaking elastic band of his boxers showing, a girl couldn't help but admire the sight. She had played it cool, or at least she had thought so, but then at the diner, she had decided to have a little fun at his expense and get unnecessarily close. So close that he dropped his silverware and then she got burned with her own fire because when he went to pick it up, she couldn't help but stare at his broad back and firm butt. He had shamelessly caught her and she had only managed to smile at him and pretend nothing had happened.


	5. Chapter 5

He should have known that the sweet three weeks that followed the incident at Hot Pie's had been the very definition of the calm before the storm, but then again, as everything related with Sansa Stark, the Hound was painfully blind to it. For three weeks their exchanges had been kind and civil, they had even been predictable, and Sandor just loved it.

They worked out together, once or twice they had gone out for coffee. She had kept sending texts, and Sandor had allowed himself to look at her a little longer a few times, appreciating how her body had changed. Once he even complimented her on how she had gained some much-needed muscle mass, she had smiled prettily at him and then asked him how would he be getting to the event; that was how everything went to hell.

They had been out with Brienne and Tormund, talking about the upcoming race on Sunday while having a drink. Sansa was telling a story about how she had almost missed her first marathon because she had overslept, he had been surprised to learn that this wasn't her first race but decided not to overthink it. Then she had suddenly turned to him, a concerned expression on her face, and asked him what his plans were for Sunday morning. He told her that he might just drive over early in the morning or maybe book a hotel for the night, he didn't care, but Sansa did. So she told him that he'd be spending the night at their apartment in the city and that it was her final decision. He tried to fight her, he really did, and much to the amusement of Brienne and Tormund, and he had lost.

The plan had been simple enough: pick her up, drive over to her place, sleep, run 26.2 miles, go back home. Simple enough, almost foolproof and also completely off.

He had arrived a little early to pick her up, early enough that her bag wasn't packed and he was asked sit and wait for her to get everything ready. He sat in her living room while she went into her bedroom, leaving the door open and started tossing things into a bag. He tried his best to ignore the fact that she was probably picking out her gear and even underwear as they spoke, he did not need to think about her in her underwear, or out of it.

Then, the moment she got in the car she started talking. She talked about her day and her siblings, about her pre-race jitters; she asked if they could get some food because she had skipped dinner and then she had asked him about his day, and the worst part? She had been actually interested in his answer. They got stuck in traffic, a triple accident just as they entered the city, and so the two-hour trip had turned into a four-hour affair. By the time they got to her definition of a modest apartment, the only thing he wanted was to take a shower and go to sleep, but apparently, that would have to wait until; after the sibling reunion.

He had met Arya Stark before, they had started off on the wrong foot, but it was nothing a few beers and crude jokes couldn't resolve. He had never met Bran Stark though, and the kid had looked at him as if he was either the hero or the monster out of some movie. The Stark siblings had taken over the living room, chatting about their days and lives and what they had been up to since they had last seen each other, by the excitement in the room one would have thought they had been apart for months when in reality they had been apart for about three weeks. Around 10 pm Sansa started getting sleepy and asked if he would mind if she jumped in the shower first, another image he did not need in his mind. Trying to be a gentleman he told her to go ahead and busied himself fixing the pull out bed, Arya had talked to him a little more before calling it a night and disappearing into the bedroom she shared with her sister, leaving him alone with the TV while he waited. It must have been half an hour later when time Sansa stepped out of the bathroom wearing her plaid PJs and wrapped in a robe. Her hair was wet, and she had a relaxed and sleepy expression on her face, Sandor had never seen anything more adorable in his life, and he wasn't the kind of man who used words as "adorable."

"Hey" - she had said softly as she stepped towards his makeshift bed - "Sorry I took so long."

"Don't worry little bird." - he said, his voice coming out as a soft grumble - "I should…"

"Yeah, yes, I'll let you get to it… good night, Sandor, see you in the morning."

All night he had been looking forward to taking a warm shower; relaxing his muscles and finding a way to sleep peacefully so that he could be well rested for the following morning. However, everything changed the second he stepped into that bathroom, and all he could smell was Sansa: lemons and lavender in the warm cloud of steam that still lingered. Cursing under his breath, Sandor kissed goodbye the idea of taking a long, warm shower and readied himself for a quick cold one instead. Feeling cold and a little calmer, Sandor decided to snoop a little as he brushed his teeth. He turned to look at the shampoo bottles by the shower, a big yellow one and a smaller lavender one; he assumed that the later was Sansa's; there was also a black bottle of shampoo which most likely would be Bran's. Behind the mirror, there were pink and blue razors, shaving cream, some antacids, Advil, Tylenol, band-aids, all the regular stuff. Under the sink he found a pink box, which he assumed were tampons, a first aid kit, extra toilet paper rolls and a few bottles of cologne, he opened one, ready to further torture himself, but it didn't smell like Sansa. Having filled his curiosity, Sandor stepped out of the bathroom and hoped sleep would find him soon.

She was beaming as she crossed the finish line. She was exhausted, and her face had red blotches that should have made her look somewhat unattractive, but as she crossed that finish line and started walking to cool off, Sandor couldn't help but feel how his chest filled with pride for her. She had hit a wall around the twentieth mile, turned to look at him and said she was done, that she couldn't do it anymore. So he had slowed down to a walk, telling her that she could do it, that they hadn't spent the last five fucking months training for her to quit when they were so close to the finish line. When the rough wake up call that had worked so well on so many soldiers hadn't worked on her, he had switched tactics. He told her that they were so close to the finish line, that she only had to push a little harder, run a bit further. That he believed in her and little by little the fire in her had rekindled and they had managed to cross the finish line at a slower pace than they had been aiming for but on high spirits.

Yes, Sansa Stark was beaming when she found her siblings in the crowd, who didn't give a shit that she was sweaty and tired as they threw themselves at her and hugged, showering her with praise and congratulations. A few minutes later, after Bran remembered to hand them their coats, they had figured out what to do for lunch and the rest of the evening; Bran would get the food from their nearby deli and Arya would get dessert, while he and Sansa went back to the apartment to clean up.

"You did good, Sansa." - he said, realizing he probably hadn't said a word to her since they began running the last few miles.

"You were amazing; I couldn't have done it without you." - she said and gave him one of those smiles that were the reason why she had him wrapped him around her little finger.

They were a few blocks away from the whole commotion when he felt a change of vibe around her; instinct kicked in as he started casually taking in their surroundings. He saw men and women in running gears, excited family members, some street vendors and a man in an expensive suit who looked completely out of place. Sandor was about to turn towards a different direction when the man looked their way, his eyes completely ignoring Sandor's figure and resting on the little redhead next to him. He didn't know if she sensed him tense up or if she saw the man out of the corner of her eye as he was trying to make his way through the crowd and towards her. But a second later, Sansa was taking his big hand in hers and pulling him lightly to where the crowd was thickest. It took them a few minutes of mingling, of him shoving a few guys to make way for her, but after a block or two, they were in the clear, though Sansa still didn't let go of his hand.

"You wanna tell me who that guy we just dodged was?" - Sandor asked after a few blocks, the crowds were thinning, and every part of him was complexly aware of the contact of her soft skin against his rough hand.

"Urg, Petyr Baelish" - she said as if the name in itself was an explanation. Seeing how that name meant nothing to him, she went on - "He's this guy who was friends with my mom, after the accident he was really nice to me until things started getting a little creepy. I though I'd never have to see him again, but he donates a lot of money to where I work."

"Do you what him handled?" - He asked, piecing together the information she had given. The way the strange little man had been looking at her made Sandor feel all sorts of feelings: disgust, anger, possessiveness... protectiveness. Suddenly feeling a little weird himself, he started to casually pull his hand away from hers, missing its warmth and press the second she quickly let go.

"Handled? Gods, you sound like a thug" - she said with a big smile on her face - "Come on big guy, let's get home before I pass out, I honestly don't know how you can keep walking, I swear I can't take another step."

Sandor just looked at her as a wicked grin appeared on his face, the second she saw it, her kind smile turned into curious concern before he swiftly picked her up and threw her gracelessly over his shoulder. Sandor had never considered himself a playful man, with his built and rough features he had been looked at with fear for most of his life. But there had been a time, many years ago, in which he had been a boy with a younger sister and his sister had loved to play all sorts of dainty and delicate games. As a young boy, he had been cast as every type of male companion a little girl could ask for. He had been a husband as they played house, a doctor to her dolls, a prince and a knight and sometimes a fucking dragon. He had carried damsels in distress and wounded heroines, and he had done it all with a smile just to please the only girl who had him wrapped around her little finger before Sansa Stark came into his life.

"You are going to injure yourself, mister" - Sansa said after a few minutes, once her laughter fit was controlled and her ribs probably started hurting.

"You weight less than my gear, girl, and I've carried that for miles under the burning sun; carrying a pretty little bird is nothing in comparison." - he said but put her down after a few steps, not wanting to hurt her and suddenly needing to put some distance between his body and hers.

"You know, you've been so great about all this that I might need to find a way to thank you properly."

Tired as he was, he couldn't help but shiver when he heard Sansa's words, his mind immediately going to the gutter. Who said phrases like "thank you properly," what the fuck did a proper thanks consisted of and how it was different from a regular thanks?

"No need to thank me, girl" - he said after clearing his throat, not wanting to risk having his voice break and making it obvious that he was having rather unconventional thoughts of what he might want - "A hot shower, food and a place to take a nap before going back home will be enough."

"You can have all that, but still, I'm going to find a way to thank you." - she had said and placed her hand on his wrist as they sat down on the subway, this time, she didn't take it off for the entire ride.

He hadn't been planning on staying another night, he had planned on taking a shower, eating, resting a little and heading back home to his normal life. He had planned on using the two-hour drive to put everything that had happened behind, come to terms with the fact that he would not see Sansa as much, that there was no reason for her to send her texts and pictures. To imprint in his memory the image of her smile as she crossed the finish line, the feel of her warm body against his shoulder as he carried her for a few blocks, the sound of her laughter when her brother cracked a joke, the sleepiness in her eyes as she leaned into him after lunch as Arya picked a movie. Instead, he had let the Stark pack lure him into staying another night; they had said he was probably too tired, that it wouldn't be safe for him to drive back home when his body surely needed to rest. Later they changed their strategy, they told him that it was too late, that winter was already coming, and the roads would probably have some ice on them, he had let them win and stayed the night. The following morning he had gotten up and showered, quietly as he could. He was fixing himself a cup of coffee when the girl's bedroom door opened and Sansa stepped out in her PJs looking more asleep than awake. She had smiled at him, and he wondered if it was her first smile of the day; snapping out of it, he had nodded towards the door, signaling that he would be leaving soon and she had whispered 'have a good day' before stepping into the bathroom. For the entire ride back home he could feel a different beat in his heart and he knew that it was all because of Sansa Stark.


	6. Chapter 6

Two weeks passed and he heard nothing from Sansa, not that he was waiting for her to come across on her promise for a proper thanks, or that he had noticed how she had stopped texting him so often. Only once they had made plans to grab coffee together and he had to cancel because of some stupid rush for a stupid client, he had made sure to double his rate to make up for it and when he had to reschedule she had told him that she had to rush to the city.

As a few days turned into weeks, and somehow they seemed to drift apart, he thought of what he had told Sansa what seemed like a lifetime ago, how it took thirty days to develop a habit. Well, in the thirst days that it took her to get used to running, he had gotten used to her. Now when he woke up, thirty minutes earlier than necessary, he missed the sleepy look on her eyes as she bid him good morning, and the long runs following her red hair that looked like a torch guiding the way. He missed the scent of lemons and lavander, but most of all, he missed that she was the first person he saw in the mornings and the fanciful notion that he was the first person she saw too.

So on a Sunday morning of a windy and gray day that seemed to match his mood, Sandor Clegane decided to give up. Now, he had never been the kind of guy to give up, he had not stayed alive against all odds by giving up and then when he finally joined the army, his mentality of keep moving forward had saved his sorry ass more than once. In life, there was only one area in which he had given up, and that was love.

He decided that having a sort of friendship with Sansa Stark was better than having one or two awkward dates that would ruin everything. A few times during the previous two weeks he had thought about asking her out. He came up with how he would ask her on a date, the suggestions he would make though he would take her anywhere she wanted. He had even allowed himself to hope for the best and imagined what it might feel like to hold her hand again and lean in for a kiss. But even in his imagination things went wrong; he pictured her not realizing he was asking her out on a real date or asking him for forgiveness as she had given him the wrong impression and she wasn't interested in him. He pictured her hating the places he suggested, asking him to take her dancing instead, where all the men would be staring at her, and he wouldn't be able to do a single thing about it. He pictured her moving away her hand and fear and disgust in her eyes if he leaned in for a kiss. So he gave up on the idea of taking their relationship to the next level and tried to forget that he ever received a sleepy-eyed warm smile from her.

No, Sandor Clegane had never been one to give up, but he knew that even if he mustered the courage to ask her out, he wouldn't be able to take her rejection. Because girls like Sansa didn't date guys like him, guys that couldn't put thoughts in order and use words.

Almost two months later, Sansa surprised him by knocking on the door of their rented office space. Taken back, Sandor tried to step out, casually block her from Tormund's view, but the stupid ginger was too well trained to be aware of his surroundings, and before Sandor could do anything, Tormund had invited Sansa in and offered her a cup of tea. Sandor cleared up a corner of his desk and gestured for Sansa to sit down, throwing daggers at Tormund to leave them alone which finally worked after about three minutes of small talk, oh how he hated small talk.

"So… hi" - Sandor said slightly uncomfortable and completely nervous.

"Hi Sandor" - Sansa said with a smile as if nothing was amiss, making him think that maybe he had blown everything out of proportion and nothing was wrong. And then, ever so casually, as if she were asking about something as trivial as the weather, she added - "Sandor, have you by any chance considered asking me out on a date? like, a real date?"

"Uhm, yes?" - he replied, half frozen and halfway into a heart attack.

"Well, you're taking too long" - she said, and her smile broadened.

"I'm… sorry?"

"Okay then, perfect! Pick me up on Saturday at 8:30 am, don't be late!" - Sansa said, gave him a quick kiss on his scarred cheek and showed herself out of the office.

The instant the door clicked, Sandor turned around to find Tormund who looked as surprised as he did, only that as the seconds turned into minutes, the ginger's shocked expression turned into a smile. The sound of heartful laughter filled the room only that Sandor wanst laughing.

Everything had gone so fast, one moment he was thinking a solution for a client and then Sansa Stark was sitting by his desk drinking tea and asking if he was planning on asking her out. Then she had decided that he as taking too long, probably thinking he was a coward or that maybe he wasn't too interested in her which were both lies. She took action into her own hands by setting the date herself, she might have even planned what they were doing, and he wouldn't know what it was. What if he hated it? What if it was something he didn't want to do... hell, now he was the one lying because there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. He was going on a date with her, a real date. But what ultimately messed him up, what shook him off the ground with the force of an explosion was that she had so casually leaned in and kissed his scarred cheek, as if it was something she did every day, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

That would count as the third time that Sansa Stark's lips had been on him. The first time was almost two years ago. Snow had just arrived from deployment and Sandor had been missing the military life so when the younger man asked if he wanted to grab a few drinks in the city, Sandor had happily agreed. They had gone to some stupid bar full of pretty boys with trust funds, that was where he met Joffrey Baratheon. The blond brat, clearly drunker that he thought he was, had been loudly talking shit about Snow's sister shielding himself in the fact that his grandfather has a high rank in the forces and so Jon's career would suffer if he did something wrong. But the stupid brat hadn't considered that Sandor was now a civilian and therefore fair game to him. He had punched the lights out of the little cunt, and he was fighting two other guys when Jon finally broke it off, he held a straight face until they made it out of the bar, kindly escorted by security, and then they had exchanged a look and burst into laughter.

They hit a second bar to celebrate and then a third one, and when no one else would serve them, they had gone back to Jon's to continue the party. They might have been too loud because not three minutes after crossing the door, a door had opened and Sansa Stark had stepped out looking first annoyed and then concerned. The sight of her standing in the moonlight, hair as if it were on fire and not an ounce of makeup on her face was the most sobering thing Sandor had ever seen. She asked what on earth had happened and Jon had gone and told her everything about running into Joffrey, getting in a fight and then celebrating. Jon finished the story and passed out on the armchair, Sansa had looked at him and asked him not to move. She returned with a first aid kit and sat on the coffee table across from him to clean his wounds. She took her time, cleaned each cut and added some ointments, she softly placed her hand on his scarred cheek and looked directly into his eyes. Then, with a soft smile, she had leaned in and kissed his cheek, the good one, before thanking him and saying goodnight.

The second time she kissed him was nothing like the almost romantic first kiss they had shared. For starters he was stone cold sober and in a terrible mood, and she was drunk as a fish and high on life, or at least that's what he wanted to believe. The girls had gotten together for Brienne's birthday, and by the girls he meant Brienne, Sansa, the Poole girl and three other chicks whose names he hadn't even bother to learn. Usually, they were responsible enough to have a designated driver but Brienne's birthday had landed on a Thursday and Thursdays were $1 drafts and $3 margaritas for girls or some shit like that and so they had thought to drink themselves to oblivion and call a cab to pick them up. But they hadn't considered that it would rain and that all the taxis would be busy, and so they were drunk at three in the morning as a poor bartender wanted to go home but couldn't because five drunk girls wouldn't go home. Finally, the boy had managed to get a hold of Brienne's phone, and after unsuccessfully trying two other numbers he had gotten through to Sandor, begging him to please get the girls. He had made it to the bar in less than fifteen minutes, hurled the girls into his truck and drove them all to Brienne's place. He already knew that Sansa was a happy drunk, but he had never seen her quite like that. She was sitting in the front between him and Brienne and the smell of her mixed up with bourbon was driving him crazy.

He thought that he was in the clear as he all but pushed the girls into Brienne's apartment. But Sansa had looked at him with her big blue eyes and asked him to pretty please drive her home, saying she would feel crappy enough when she woke up as to add back pain from sleeping on the floor. So he indulged her, led her back to the truck where she sat in the front, unnecessarily close to him, and he drove to the opposite side of town in the pouring rain. He helped her up the stairs and unlocked the door for her, led her through the dark living room and though her bedroom door, he went to the kitchen and got her water and aspirins before going into her bedroom. He found her passed out on top of the bed and his heart skipped, he threw a blanket on top of her and pushed a strand of hair off her face. The motion must have woken her up, or maybe she was never fully asleep because she took his big hand in hers and softly kissed the inside of his hand before turning on her side and falling asleep.

And now she had kissed him for the third time, she had touched her soft lips to his scarred cheek, and he could have sworn that her kiss was a little too close to his lips. Sandor turned around to look at Tormund who had stopped laughing and was apparently getting some work done.

"What the fuck just happened?" - he asked his friend, finally breaking out of his trance.

"I have no fucking idea, but we're getting the team together and grabbing a beer after work."

Shocking as it might be, Sandor Clegane didn't have many friends, let alone many female friends, so when Tormund said he was getting the team together, he mostly meant that he'd be calling Brienne. They met in the same bar that had the stupid deals that landed him his second kiss, Brienne was already waiting for them with a pitcher of cold beer and an order of jalapeño poppers on the table, no wonder why Tormund was so blindly in love with her.

"Tormund said you had girl problems. I didn't even know you had a girl to begin with." - Brienne said smugly.

"I don't... but Sansa Stark just asked me out and I have no idea what that means, what she expects."

"Sansa Stark?" - Brienne asked in clear disbelief - "Are you sure she asked you out?"

Sandor rolled his eyes at her and stuffed his mouth with a popper as Tormund recounted what he had seen and heard at their office, which apparently had been everything much to Sandor's discomfort. When the story finally finished, Brienne was looking at him as if he had grown a second head.

"So, what do you think this means?" - she asked after downing half her beer in one take.

"I don't fucking know, Brienne. You're a fucking girl, aren't you? You're supposed to know what this shit means" - he countered.


	7. Chapter 7

He felt like a fucking teenager getting ready for his first date, only that he was entirely in the dark as to what would happen later in the day and didn't know what to wear.

He woke up at five in the morning and, after realizing that there was no way in hell he was going back to sleep, decided to go to the gym. He lifted weights, worked on his core and even threw a few punches in the boxing ring to work out his anxiety. The jog back to his place was what he needed because as he stepped into the shower, he thought that he could pull it off: that he could be a good date to Sansa and that maybe, just maybe, he could score a second date. That was until he stepped out of the shower and realized that he had no idea of what to wear. Sandor wasn't a man who paid much attention to his clothes, having worn a uniform for most of his life, he had kind of gotten used to the idea of not having to worry about a menial task as picking out clothes. His closet was pretty much all the same: three pairs of jeans, two blue and one black, three pairs of casual pants, beige, navy blue and black, three white, two blue and one black dress shirts, a nice tailored suit and a dozen t-shirts, six black, six white. He might have had a few polo shirts lost in his drawers along with swimming trunks and shorts, but he didn't really like those, they felt too tight on his shoulders. When it came to workout clothes, he had quite the selection, but he wasn't about to wear that to his date.

He looked at his phone and saw a new text from the redhead who haunted his dreams, immediately he feared that she would be canceling on him, why else would she text him at 7 am on a Saturday morning. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the blow only to find himself more confused than before; her text was short and sweet: _Forgot to tell you, bring swimming attire! See you in a few hours, X_. A little uneasy, Sandor opted for his usual attire, jeans and a faded black t-shirt, he threw his swimming trunks in his gym bag, a change of clothes and a towel for good measure before reaching for his jacket. He made sure that he had his wallet and keys before leaving his house and smiled as he got in the truck. Now, he was no texting expert, but he could definitely remember that the Xs were meant to be hugs.

At precisely 8:30 on Saturday morning he knocked on the door. He had thought about stopping for coffee on his way over, maybe get her some of those lemon things she liked so much but decided against it, not knowing if she had planned on going out for breakfast. He had spent five minutes of the drive wondering about the swimming suit, first because it was winter and he really didn't feel like doing a polar swim or whatever it was called and then warming up to the idea of jumping into a frozen lake if only it would mean that she would do it too, meaning that she'd have to wear a swimming suit as well. Out of the remaining fifteen minutes, he spent ten thinking about her body and five trying to calm down, he had managed to do that just fine, the rush of cold air had also been quite helpful when he stepped out of the truck and climbed the three flight of stairs towards her tiny apartment.

"Good morning!" - Sansa's voice filled the air as she opened the door, a big smile on her freshly washed face - "You didn't have to come up the stairs, you could have texted me. Come in, it'll just be a minute."

"I... I thought this was a date" - he said suddenly uneasy. Maybe she hadn't meant it that way, but she had asked him about his intentions to take her out on a real date. She must have seen the confused look on his face as she turned back to him, an oversized purse on her shoulder and apartment keys in her hand.

"So you're old school, Sandor Clegane, I like it" - she said ushering him to the door so that they could get moving.

"I'm older than you, girl. Knocking on the door is something the guy does on dates… gods, I haven't been on a date in years." - he added for good measure but felt as Sansa stiffened a little after closing her door.

"Really? What about that girl… Daisy" - she asked, her voice a little less happy than before.

"Daisy was not the kind of girl one dates, Sansa." - Sandor answered.

They walked silently to his car; he was trying to figure out why Sansa had brought up Daisy and thinking that he had ruined their date already by the implications of what he had said. Still, he decided to keep trying; the date wasn't over until it was over and he wouldn't go down without a fight. So he did what he usually did and turned to open the door for Sansa. That apparently was the right thing to do because as he climbed into the driver's seat and asked for their destination, she smiled softly at him.

Standing in the middle of the lobby of a fancy spa, Sandor felt utterly out of place. Everything there was glass or marble, and there was water everywhere, he didn't dare to move out of fear of breaking something, a man like him did not belong in a place like that. But Sansa's face had lit up when they pulled into the underground parking, and she revealed her grand surprise. She talked all the way to the lobby, saying how she hoped he liked her gift, that this was her proper thank you and that she knew he had his doubts but if by the end of their treatments he didn't like it then she'd make it up to him.

"I know you're not into this sort of things…" - Sansa said softly as they reached the doors to the men and women locker rooms - "But, please, just try to have an open mind, if fifteen minutes into the massage you don't like it, then we can get out of here and get coffee, okay?"

He merely nodded and watched her disappear through the doors before going into the brightly lit, super tidy, most clean men's room he had ever used. He threw his bag in a locker room and took the packaged sandals, soap and towel from one of the counters… apparently, he had to shower again before going into the whatever the lady called the room they'd be worked on was. He had to give it to the spa people, the shower head was at a comfortable height, which was something that never happened in public places, the water pressure was nice and the tiny soap they gave him smelled really good. Already feeling a bit more relaxed, Sandor stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, standing in front of his locker he remembered the words from the front desk lady, undress to your comfort level. He wasn't comfortable with any level of undress but he had promised to go into this whole thing with an open mind. Shaking his head, he wrapped a dry towel around his waist and made his way through the dim lit private area that led to suite 8.

The first thing he noticed was that there were two beds, he was trying to dismiss the fact when the door opened behind him, and Sansa walked in wrapped in a towel. His eyes widened, had he mixed up their suite numbers? He was sure she had told him he had suite 8. No, wait, she hadn't said that, she had said they had suite 8. Oh fuck, he thought as he realized that Sansa's lips were moving, she was probably talking to him, and he was just sitting down on a bed with a towel wrapped around his waist and looking like an idiot.

"… and since you're always working out, I booked you the deep tissue massage, they say it's like amazing for people who are always stressing their muscles, would you… turn around? so that I can lay on the bed?"

He should have worn his swimming trunks, or his underwear, something, anything, but he was naked and laying in a bed next to her, and he was sure that she was naked too. Sandor could feel his blood pressure going up, he could feel the tension building up in his muscles and then the door opened for the second time and two ladies walked in. One of them asked him to please lay down and then she was moving his towel around, he felt awkward, uncomfortable, and ultimately lost the second he saw Sansa's naked back. The lady must have said something because she softly placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her. But he didn't care about what oils she used, and he didn't have any injuries that she should know of, so he answered as calmly as he could while being in the same room with a naked Sansa Stark. He thought about turning to face the wall but that would leave his scars wholly exposed, and he hated that. Instead, he turned his face to the other side, closed his eyes and tried to forget that he wasn't alone in the room, this was supposed to be relaxing for fuck's sake, not another form of fucking torture.

"Mr. Clegane" - the soft voice broke the silence - "Please let me know if the pressure is okay."

Three minutes, that was all it took for the masseuse to make him forget about being naked in a room with three girls in a far different scenario than any fantasy his fifteen-year-old self could come muster. Was her name Susan? Su? Sandra? Whatever her name was, she had magic hands. She was kneading his muscles in just the right way, threading the tension away and making him feel like jello. He asked if he could put a little more pressure on his tired calves, for someone so short, the girl had remarkable strength, maybe this whole spa thing wasn't so bad. He must have let a sigh out at some point because he heard a little giggle, opening his eyes he found a little bird smiling at him and asking if he was enjoying it, he smiled back at her, his answer clear as day in the simple gesture.

"Okay then" - the other lady's voice broke the silence after a sweet eternity - "We hope you enjoyed your couple's massage, the use of the pools and sauna is included in your package so please, feel free to use them, remember that the cycle should go: hot, cold and rest for at least 15 minutes before going again. A member of our staff should be delivering your fruit and drinks soon; we hope you had a nice time with us and felt revitalized, please let us know if there's something else you might need."

The massage ladies quietly left the room, and Sandor turned towards the wall before throwing his legs off the bed and making sure everything was covered before speaking to Sansa, his back still to her.

"Can I turn around?" - He asked softly, not wanting to break the relaxed environment that wrapped them up with. He waited still for a minute, hearing shuffling and wanting badly to turn around and try his luck, he was about to when Sansa appeared in his peripheral vision.

"Let's get changed and head to the hot tub, shall we?"

He felt like a puppy following her around. If she wanted to go to the hot tub, they went to the hot tub, if she wanted to try the Spanish showers, they tried the Spanish showers, she wanted to lounge by some funny looking pool? They lounged by the funny looking pool. He was happy, he was relaxed, he was staring at her in a bikini while eating fruit and cheese and drinking champagne like a soccer mom on vacation and he didn't even feel guilty about it. He wondered if that was what girls did on 'spa days' and was jealous of them, he thought of his days in the military, of days sleeping on the floor and getting sand in every single crack of his body and then compared it to what he was doing and appreciated everything even more. They were on yet another pool, Sansa was sitting on the edge next to him, her legs brushing against his shoulder when she kicked the water, he figured that if there was a heaven, that was what it looked like.

"How did you get this scar?" - she asked cautiously as her finger traced an old scar on his shoulder.

"Dodged a bullet… literally" - he answered, he wasn't one to talk about his time in service, he'd chat about a few things but he had seen things, done things, that he'd rather not tell her.

"And this one here?" - she continued, this time pressing her foot to his ribs

"Stabbed" - he answered and grabbed a hold of her foot for a second before letting her go

"What about the one on your right thigh?" - her voice sounded a little more playful if he dared believe.

"How do you know I have a scar on my right thigh?" - he asked as he pushed the legs of his trunks down.

"You're not the only one who has been watching."

"Have you been checking me out?" - he dared ask as he turned to look at her, a faint expression of surprise on his face.

"Are you accusing me of staring at you while you had your eyes closed in the sauna? Or check out your muscles when you rinsed your hair in the showers? Of maybe paying close attention to your legs when you exited the hot tub?" - she said as she lowered herself into the pool - "I would never" - she added solemnly.

Her banter continued as they ate and later, encouraged by Sansa's behavior, Sandor slid his hand into hers as they walked towards the car. He held his breath for a second and let it out as Sansa squeezed his big paw, he opened the door for her and then got behind the wheel. Was that the end of the date? It surely couldn't be, he didn't want it to be, so he asked her if she had plans for later that day and smiled for the second time when she said she was free all afternoon.

He took her out for lunch and then they went to a library, which was something he did every other month but wasn't sure Sansa would enjoy. Luckily for him, she had been meaning to buy some chick book someone had recommended at work, so she was more than happy to browse with him. She ended up suggesting a few titles: anything by J.K Rowling including her work as Robert Galbraith and he suggested a few for her: the Millennium trilogy but those written by Larsson or the Robert Langdon series; he got her a book of each series to get her started, and she insisted on buying the first Harry Potter for him. It was already late afternoon when they exited the bookstore, and he still didn't want to let her go, he didn't want her to have the chance to regret their time together, to figure out that he wasn't what she wanted or needed. So he pushed his luck even further and asked if she wanted to grab a coffee and get started on their new books, to which she happily agreed.

He got their drinks while Sansa insisted on grabbing them seats, he didn't quite understand the imperative need of securing them when the place was half empty, but he was not about to contradict her in anything. So he ordered a black coffee and a flat white, whatever the hell that was, and even ordered one of those lemon pastries she liked while he waited for their drinks. A few minutes later he started searching the room for her; there were plenty of tables, some empty, some occupied by what looked to be mostly students, but he found her at the end of the room, sitting on a loveseat and already immersed in her book. Placing her drink in front of her, Sandor was about to seat on the closest couch when Sansa made room for him without even taking her eyes from the page.

"Got you a lemon thing" - he said as he let out a sigh and sank on the couch.

"You are a sweetheart."

Men his size were not meant to sit in loveseats. Men whose legs and arms were so long that he felt as if he was crushing the poor girl sitting next to him, so while Sansa leaned forward to scoop another bite from her lemon cake, Sandor casually threw his arm on the back of the couch. He really didn't mean anything by it, he was just trying to get comfortable, but then Sansa had leaned back into the couch and scooted a little closer to him, and he had left his hand slip from the back of the sofa into her shoulder. And there they were, reading pleasantly and maintaining psychical contact with each other, Sandor wondered if they looked like a couple, he bet they did, and then thought that if he managed not to screw things up then maybe more reading sessions would come along.

Their coffees were long gone, he was halfway done with the book and already thinking that he should have listened to Sansa and buy the whole series, maybe he could sell or donate this one and get a nice boxed set. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Sansa sat forward and stretched, she rubbed her eyes and turned to look at him, she had that same sleepy expression with which she had greeted him most mornings they trained.

"Ready to head home?" - Sandor asked and extended his hand to help her up.

The drive back to Sansa's was quiet, the nice sort of quiet in which you don't mind what music is playing on the radio or the fact that no one was talking. He parked the car in the same spot he had used that morning and went around the car to get the door for her, she smiled at him, and he knew that she was still calling him old school in her head. He walked her up to her apartment, waited for her to unlock the door and turn on the lights, she turned around and leaned on the door frame.

"What are you thinking?" - she asked quietly as if she didn't want to wake up the neighbors when it wasn't even 7 pm.

"That you can't possibly look cuter than you do right now" - he replied in a moment of weakness and immediately regretted it, he could feel he was blushing, he couldn't remember the last time he had blushed.

"I had a great time today" - Sansa said, her eyes brighter, she was kindly giving him a way out.

"Me too... we... we should do this again... soon."

"Soon" - she agreed.

"Like, maybe Tuesday? Are you free on Tuesday? Or is that too soon... I'm not familiar with this... protocol."

"I love that you just called this protocol" - she mocked - "Tuesday works just fine, text me the details."

She stood by the door a couple more minutes, making small talk and dragging the evening as long as she could and then her phone rang, and the mood died. She rejected the call and placed her phone on her pocket, Sandor smiled at her, really smiled, not minding the way his scars stretched on his face or that he tended to look a little creepy when he did. She asked him to text her when he got home and then leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, definitely closer to his lips than what was socially accepted and he loved it. That night as got home, he pulled his cell and wrote a quick text, he had so much more he wanted to say, but he figured that he would save it for Tuesday.


End file.
